Break-Away Strength

by Charlie Richards

  Hearing a door open and the creak of hinges, then the door close, he froze. He slowly rolled over, grimacing at the pain throbbing through his temples. Lifting a hand to the back of his head, he prodded gingerly at his scalp. Upon feeling a bump, he cringed.

  “Hey, there, buddy,” a deep voice rumbled. “I’m glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

  He watched a man—hell, a big man—round the sofa and stop at the side of the couch. Unable to help himself, he gaped up at the guy. He actually felt a tingle of arousal, which, even in his confusion, he knew was completely inappropriate.

  He appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties. The man stood over six feet, had broad shoulders, a barrel of a chest which stretched his white wife-beater, and tapered to a narrow waist with just the beginning of love handles. His arms were lightly covered in a mixture of gray and light brown hair and thickly muscled. From the way the man filled out his faded blue jeans, he bet the guy’s legs were heavily muscled, too.

  While his mind was a little muzzy, he knew he’d always had a thing for older men.

  “Just try to relax,” the man urged. He picked up the glasses case, then settled on the coffee table. The wood creaked a little, but held. The older man held up the case. “Did your contacts survive your tumble in the river, friend?” His smile appeared kind. “I’ve seen your expression on my daughter’s face a time or two. You’re having trouble focusing.” His brows furrowed and he straightened. He rubbed his free hand over his bald scalp. “Unless you have a concussion. Your eyes are pretty dilated, friend. How’s your head feel?”

  Daughter? Yeah, I really should not be admiring his bald head, no matter how much I want to run my palms over it.

  Head injury. That had to be the answer.

  “Um, can I have those, please?” He held out his hand, glancing toward the glasses case. “I lost a contact.”

  The man handed him the case.

  Feeling around his left eye, he quickly popped the contact out. He held it on his finger as he opened the case with his thumb, then settled the wire-rimmed spectacles on his nose. After a second of hesitation, he closed the case, then leaned over and put the case on the end table. He put the contact lens on the case.

  Seeing the older man clearly for the first time affirmed his earlier assessment. The man was definitely older and definitely hot. His host also waited patiently.

  “What happened?” he asked. Finally focusing on what he should. “Where am I?”

  “You were on an inner tube, floating down the river,” the stranger told him. “Do you remember that?”

  He began to shake his head, but the pulsing waves of pain made him think better of it. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t remember a river. Are you sure?”

  “Well, I saw you go under myself,” the big man replied, his concern evident in his tone and warm brown eyes. “What about your name? Do you remember that?”

  Scoffing, he nodded. What kind of question was that? “My name is—” He stopped, his mind blanking. My name. What is my name? My name is—“I can’t remember.”

  Panic set in, fast and hot. “What’s my name?” He racked his brain, struggling for an answer. Except his mind remained stubbornly blank. Attempting to swing his legs off the sofa, he let out a pained whine when something bound his legs.

  “Hey!” A deep voice cried, vying for his attention. “Easy now, easy. You’re all right. Just take a deep breath.”

  He felt something grip his thighs. He froze. Sucking in a harsh breath, he kicked out.

  “Stop,” that same deep voice ordered. “Stop now. I don’t wanna hurt ya, kid.”

  That cut through. Why the hell had he reacted like that? He didn’t know.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I’m so sorry. I...” He trailed off, having no answer.

  “Easy now, kid,” the man continued. “I’m gonna untangle your legs from this blanket. Then you’re gonna swing ’em over the side here and tell me why you freaked out.”

  He nodded. He wanted to be untangled. He hated being bound. Feeling the fabric ease from his legs, he took a deep breath. Almost instantly, he felt better.

  “Thanks,” he muttered. Resting his feet on the floor, he rubbed his palms up and down his sweatpants clad legs. He could feel the way they draped over his thighs, the way they hung on his hips. These sweatpants didn’t fit him. Struggling to keep his voice smooth even as his throat threatened to close, he mumbled, “I d-don’t remember much. I-I—” He stopped and shook his head. “These pants aren’t mine. I’ve lost a contact and needed those glasses you were holding. I like older men. Th-That’s about it.”

  Realizing what he’d just blurted out, he jerked his gaze to the bald man’s face.

  While the man’s brows were lifted and he looked surprised, his... host... didn’t appear upset. He cleared his throat, then gave him a smile. “It will pass, son,” he rumbled softly, his expression kind. “You got a bit of a bump to the head. I have a buddy who’s dating a doctor. I’ll see if I can’t contact him. Maybe he can give me a couple of signs to watch for... precautions. You’ll be okay.”

  Nodding slowly, he felt relief flood him. His host wasn’t upset by his verbal faux pas. He shouldn’t have admitted his fetish. That’s what his... shit... who? Someone. Someone had claimed his desire to have much older men fuck him had been a fetish. He didn’t know who. He didn’t know when. It was just... some kind of instinct.

  “I can take you to the doc if you want,” the man offered.

  “Who are you?” He slapped his hand over his mouth. He shouldn’t have blurted his question like that. “Sorry.”

  The big man’s gray-blond brows furrowed. “I’m Reggie. Do you at least remember waking up an hour or so ago?” Looking discomfited, he added, “I pulled you from the river.”

  I should be thanking him. “I should thank you.” The thought seemed to transfer straight to his mouth. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t blurt that, huh?” Someone had told him that.

  “Just relax, son,” Reggie soothed. “You’ve got a head injury. I’m certainly not gonna hold your blurting against you.” He smiled. “I can call my friend’s doctor buddy. I can even take you down to him.”

  “No!” He saw Reggie’s brows shoot up and snapped his jaw shut. Furrowing his brows, he struggled to get his racing pulse under control “No,” he whispered. “I-I don’t want, um.” He paused, searching his memory. “No hospital records.”

  He really had no explanation. His gut, though... his gut told him he had to leave no record. At least, nothing too traceable.

  Was he hiding?

  Glancing around the room, he again took in the rough décor. This place seemed out of the way. He’d been pulled out of a river? Where was he? Why had he come here... to this area anyway?

  He had no idea.

  “Well, I don’t wanna keep calling you buddy or man,” the big man rumbled. “So why don’t we come up with something. Hmm?” He grinned and smacked his knee lightly. “First name in your head. What is it?”

  Opening his mouth, he froze. First name. “D.” He frowned, then repeated it. “D,” he repeated. “Not really a name but... it’s stuck in my head.”

  Reggie chuckled softly. He nodded. “Maybe, but D might be your nickname. Lots of choices then. Dan or Dick.” He offered an amused smile as he added, “How about Dennis?”

  Rolling his eyes, D shook his head. “Don’t know about any of those names.” None of them seemed right.

  “Well, what about Damond... or Dwight.” His grin widened and he waggled his brows comically. “Maybe your name is D’Artagnan.”

  “Shut up,” D mumbled. He felt his cheeks heat. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.” It also felt a lot like flirting, even though he knew that was a ridiculous idea, too.

  Reggie chuckled softly. “Got you to relax, though,” he pointed out. “Now, why don’t you close your eyes, take a deep breath, then tell me the last thing you remember.”

  Doing as instructed,
D closed his eyes. He rested his hands on his thighs and breathed slowly and deeply. Unfortunately, his mind remained stubbornly blank.

  “I remember waking up here,” D whispered, opening his eyes. Meeting Reggie’s warm dark gaze, he shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “Okay,” Reggie murmured. “You know that’s a bad sign. Right? You understand that, at least?”

  D scowled. “Of course I do.”

  “You hit your head,” Reggie reminded. “I have friends who can help.” D opened his mouth to object, and the older man immediately held up his hands in placation. “Please. I want to help you, D, but you need to trust me.”

  Trust.

  Funny, really, but something told D that trust was a tough thing to come by in his life. Still, if Reggie had actually wanted to harm him, he could have just let him drown in the river. He had rescued him, hadn’t he? Maybe he’d actually kidnapped him?

  Realizing Reggie was watching him solemnly, D took in the concerned expression on his weathered face.

  Whatever caused me not to trust, it wasn’t caused by this man.

  D jerked a nod. “Okay.” He whispered the word as he wrapped his arms around his naked torso.

  Reggie offered him a reassuring smile. “Okay. First, I’m going to call a man named Carl Lewis. He’s a detective, but he’s the friend of a friend. He’ll be discreet if I ask him to be. Okay?”

  Feeling his heartrate spike in his chest, D shivered. A detective? How come going to the cops felt wrong?

  Still, D knew he needed help. “Okay.”

  Reggie gripped the blanket and pulled it up over D’s chilled chest. With a smile that could only be called fatherly, he tucked it around his shoulders. He gripped his neck in a firm hold and squeezed gently. However, the feel of him rubbing his calloused thumb over D’s jaw belied his expression, making him feel like the moment was something more.

  “I’ll help you through this, D,” Reggie rumbled roughly. He cleared his throat and pulled away, settling back on the coffee table. “Okay. Let’s see if Carl can tell us if anyone has reported you missing. Then, I’ll call his friend Morgan. He’s a doctor. He’ll tell me what to do if you have a concussion and maybe walk me through how best to help you get your memory back.”

  D nodded. That sounded like a good idea. “But no actual reports, right?” For some reason, that remained extremely important.

  “I will stress that to them. Yes,” Reggie confirmed. As he spoke, he pulled out his cell phone. He thumbed his finger across the screen, probably scrolling through his contacts. “There you are.”

  Reggie rested the phone on D’s knee. He hit the dial button, then the speaker button.

  Listening to the phone ring, D tried not to become too tense as they waited for the cop to pick up the line.

  “You’ve reached Detective Lewis,” stated a questioning tenor. “Who is this?”

  “Hi, Carl,” Reggie greeted. “This is Reginald Herrera. We met while building Laramie’s barn. I did the electrical.”

  “Oh, hi, Reg,” Carl responded, his tone warming. “I heard through the grapevine that you were on vacation. Looking for a fishing buddy?”

  Reggie’s thick lips curved into an amused smile. “Afraid not, although you and your family are always welcome.”

  Carl chuckled softly. “Well, maybe some weekend Lorna is with her mother, we’ll take you up on that. I know Vince and Jake would enjoy some guy time.”

  “Well, I’m here for a few weeks still, so let me know,” Reggie told him. After clearing his throat, he offered D a reassuring smile as he stated, “Hey. Look. I hate to ask, but I need a favor. If I gave you the description of a guy, would you be able to find out if anyone has reported him missing or filed any other type of report on him?”

  “Do you have a name?” the detective asked.

  “Afraid not,” Reggie replied. “I rescued a young man who had an accident on the river. He bumped his head on a rock and is having memory problems.” He smiled at D as he added, “Doesn’t even remember his own name and he didn’t have any identification on him. Just his glasses and a couple of soggy bills.”

  “Well, if he was floating on the river, it’s possible he hasn’t even been reported missing yet,” Carl responded. “But give me his description. I’ll see if I can find anything.”

  “It has to be off the record,” Reggie told his friend. “He’s, uh, he’s a little skittish.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe, then?” Carl asked. “Maybe you should take him to the hospital. He could be a—”

  Reggie cut him off, saying, “You’re on speaker, Carl.” He met D’s gaze as he grinned and added, “Besides. This young’un can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet... and I oughta know. I carried him into the house. No way he can take down my big ass.”

  “Your ass isn’t big,” D muttered, tearing his gaze away from Reggie’s and lowering it the floor. “It fits your body type just fine. Nice and tight.”

  Carl barked a laugh, obviously having heard D’s comment. He felt his face heat and he huddled deeper into the sofa and blanket. D knew he really shouldn’t have said that.

  “Okay, so it sounds like the only thing in danger is your virtue, Reg,” Carl teased. “Why don’t you describe this youngster who sounds like he’s checked out your ass?”

  Looking slightly uncomfortable, Reggie ran a hand over his bald scalp. He lowered his gaze to the phone, then murmured, “Uh, Caucasian. Five foot ten. Maybe mid-twenties. Lightly tanned skin. Lean and tone, oval face, pretty while still masculine features, hazel-brown eyes, dark-blond hair.” He paused a second, then his face grew pink. “As far as identifying marks, he has a small rainbow tattoo on his left hip near his, uh, his groin.”

  D gaped. Unable to help himself, he lifted his blanket, then peered down at himself. He had to push the waistband of the sweats down a bit to reveal the groove of his hip... and the rainbow tattoo. He ran his fingers over the small design.

  In his mind, the image of an identical tattoo flashed briefly. The form wasn’t on a woman’s hip, but rather just above her right shoulder blade. The flashing grin of a blonde woman followed that.

  Blinking, D wondered what the memory meant. Had he gotten tattoos with someone? A female friend, perhaps?

  He didn’t have time to dwell on that, though, because a couple of other pieces of information mentally clicked. He’d been pulled out of a river, which meant he had probably been wearing swimming trunks. He now wore sweatpants that were far too big, and Reggie knew about his tattoo in a rather intimate location.

  Gaping at Reggie, D saw the older man give him a rueful smile. D snapped his jaw closed, then accused, “You undressed me.”

  Reggie nodded. “Yeah,” he responded, not denying it. “I did.”

  Chapter Three

  Lifting his hands in placation, Reggie hurried to explain. “I needed to get you dry. You were unconscious, so I didn’t have much of a choice. Please, try to understand.”

  Just that fast, D’s upset expression cleared. His brows furrowed as his eyes narrowed, but now the young man looked... confused.

  “I-I get that,” D whispered. “I do. And I’m sorry for acting like I thought you did something wrong. I don’t know why I did that.”

  Reggie could guess at a few reasons... like if he’d been abused or raped. He hated to think of D going through something like that. That wouldn’t explain why he didn’t want his name in a report, though.

  With D having calmed, Reggie tried not to dwell on it. It wasn’t like his mental guesses could be verified anyway. Hell, he didn’t even have internet at his cabin.

  “It’s okay, D,” Reggie reassured. “You’ve been through a lot.” Patting the young man’s knee lightly—and doing his best not to let his hand linger—he picked up his phone with his other hand. “Let’s give Doctor Pruitt a call.”

  As D nodded, his damp hair flopped over his forehead. Reggie fought his urge to brush it back from his head. Finding out the young man had checked ou
t his ass had filled him with a mix of pride and concern. On one hand, it was nice to be admired. On the other, Reggie knew he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Even if D hadn’t been probably thirty years his junior, he’d never scratched that itch before and knew he shouldn’t be thinking about doing it now.

  “When did the detective hang up?” D asked, looking worried. “Is he going to, uh, you know... not tell?”

  “He hung up while you were, uh—” Reggie grimaced, but knew he had to explain. “While you were examining your tattoo.”

  Reggie didn’t mention how badly he’d wanted to run his own fingers over it after finding it. And maybe my tongue. Damn it! He focused on his phone and scrolled through the directory once more.

  After finding the number he wanted, Reggie tapped the connect button. He again put the phone on speaker. “Detective Straton,” a man rumbled, sounding amused. “Weren’t you just talking to my partner?”

  Chuckling, Reggie nodded. “Yeah. And I’m hoping you’ll give me your partner’s number. I could use Morgan’s advice.”

  “Sure thing, man,” Ryan responded, then rattled off a number. “He’s at the hospital, so if he doesn’t answer, leave a message. He’ll get back to you.”

  “Thanks,” Reggie responded. “I’ll do that.” After he hung up, he noted D’s confused expression. “You okay?”

  D nibbled his bottom lip for a few seconds, then licked over it.

  Reggie fought his desire to lean forward and follow the path of D’s tongue with his own. He’d come out here to get his head on straight, not find a man that made him want to give in to his secret desires. Instead, he was reaching out to the very men who made him want to find something similar to what they had.

  “I’m confused,” D claimed. “If Ryan is Carl’s partner, who is Morgan? And who are Vince and Jake?”

  Understanding the young man’s confusion, Reggie explained. “Detective Carl Lewis and Detective Ryan Straton work together on the force... partners at work. Their life partners are Vincent Androse, a firefighter, and Morgan Pruitt, a doctor. Jake and Lorna are Carl’s children. I heard the divorce was pretty messy.”